


🔮 amortentia

by slytherinkenma



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Artist Keith (Voltron), Hufflepuff Keith (Voltron), Klance: Fantasy/Future, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slytherin Lance (Voltron), TeamKLfantasy, Writer Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinkenma/pseuds/slytherinkenma
Summary: Slytherin Lance writes poems to process his emotions. More and more of those poems deal with his emotions for Hufflepuff Keith. Let's just hope that none of these poems end in the hands of said Hufflepuff (Spoiler: they do).
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124
Collections: Klance: Fantasy | Future





	🔮 amortentia

**Author's Note:**

> my contribution to the klance fantasy future event!! 
> 
> the poems at the start and the end are both written by lance  
> big shoutout to nadia, haley and keef for listening to me ramble on and on about this fic  
> and of course a big thank you to celeste for hosting this event with me!!!!  
> i love all of y'all!!!!!

_amortentia_

_o! mother-of-pearl sheen, spiralling steam,_

_of rose thorn, pearl dust, moonstone in disarray,_

_how bitter-sweet your tantalising gleam_

_making my heart yearn for things faraway._

_flown across the wide sea into my reach_

_mamás pastel’tos de guayaba._

_salt-heavy breeze at varadero beach,_

_and the fragrance of my red dahlia._

_the charcoal on his fingertips, that scent_

_that lures me into the depth of his gaze,_

_amortentia’s shimmer reminiscent_

_of constellations setting me ablaze._

_of starry patterns in his lilac eyes_

_exposing me - a wild rose in disguise._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Friday**

Lance missed home. He loved Hogwarts, being a Slytherin and being a sixth year but he found himself visiting his beloved Cuba in his dreams more often than not. The illusion of being with his family for a few hours each night gave him comfort.

As did writing. He sent his family letters, in which he talked about the intricacies of daily life in the castle. His Mamá and Papá often talked about Lance’s nephew and niece and their help in the gardens that Lance used to tend to with his brother Marco. The regular one below their kitchen window and the magical one in the cave by the shore.

Rachel wrote him about the surfboards she crafted and the waves she conquered. Veronica about her work life and their parent’s health.

Nadia and Sylvio wrote him, too. Epic tales of their daring adventures and about their latest cookie heist. Lance missed them all so terribly much. So much so, that he could feel a dull ache settle into his chest, more intense each day he was away from his loved ones.

But he was grateful for being able to attend Hogwarts and he found that writing alleviated some of that pain and turned it into something bitter-sweet instead. His brother Luis bound books for a living, magical ones that you could fill with your voice and which were able to read your words aloud. But for Lance he crafted non-magical ones, as Lance liked those the most.

Since his childhood, he had filled dozens of the little dark-blue leather-bound notebooks. He wrote snippets of stories, diary entries, made notes on what he wanted to talk about in his next letter.

And poems, so many poems. Writing poetry soothed Lance’s soul; it was a skill he had been honing for years, a craft that was near to his heart. Transfiguration spells and herbology books inspired him to no end; but potions was undoubtedly the class where the margins of his class notes were filled with ideas the most. Single lines and sometimes even whole poems that he scribbled on the edge of the parchment, to be copied later into his valuable notebook in the safety of his bed in the Slytherin dorms.

This day hadn’t been an exception to that. Lance had written a whole sonnet as he was brewing Amortentia with his Hufflepuff deskmate Keith.

But as he had settled on his bed and flipped open his potions book, the first thing he noticed was that his class notes were gone. What’s even worse, were the little smiley faces staring up at him. Ones that were drawn by him. Lance didn’t draw smiley faces in his own potions book. He drew them in Keith’s potions book.

This is Keith’s potions book.

_This is Keith’s potions book._

Lance felt a sudden urge to just close his eyes, roll over and sleep. For a long, long time.

**Saturday**

Keith looked at a wild rose. Lance was passing by on a balcony looking over one of the dozens of courtyards in Hogwarts. Obviously right when Keith was examining a wild fucking rose.

He leaned in, with his fingertips stretched out towards it and Lance would love to tell you what happened next but he definitely wasn’t stopping to watch. He was not about to risk getting caught admiring Keith admiring flowers.

He already possibly risked their whole friendship by waxing poetic about his emotions for Keith – he didn’t plan on making that worse by wistfully staring at the guy. There were lines that shouldn’t be crossed. And Lance was already crossing too many lately.

**Sunday**

It was a Hogsmeade weekend. So, naturally Lance was sitting under a cherry blossom tree by the shore of the Black Lake. See, usually, he wouldn’t miss out on the chance to visit the town with his friends. He loved all their little traditions.

Watching Pidge drink entirely too much Butterbeer. Buying Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans at Honeydukes with Keith and competing in a game of Truth or Bean with him and the others. Catching a piggyback ride on Hunk’s back for their return to the castle.

But he couldn’t face Keith right now. He just couldn’t.

He knew he had to get over himself and put this whole ordeal behind him, but he granted himself this one extra day to mourn his dignity before having to face Keith eventually on Monday.

He didn’t _want_ his friendship with Keith to be irreparably damaged just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. In his pens?

Either way, it was up to Keith whether he was weirded out by all this or not. That was out of Lance’s control. All he knew was that making Keith uncomfortable was the last thing he had wanted to do.

As his thoughts spiralled further and further into self-deprecating depths, he rapidly tapped the end of his pen on the edge of his notebook.

“Hey.”

Lance’s heart seemingly skipped three whole beats before going into absolute overdrive.

“Hey”, he choked out in reply. To Keith. Who was suddenly standing in front of him.

“Can I sit down?”, he asked sheepishly and Lance wordlessly scooted over. He closed his notebook. As Keith got comfortable beside him on the patch of grass, Lance looked up. He had admired the canopy more than enough that day but the mere thought of looking at Keith was already overwhelming Lance in that moment. Besides, it was a pretty tree. The blossoms weren’t close to full bloom at all but the branches were covered in tiny buds already.

A package was neatly placed in front of Lance.

A package of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.

“Wanna play?”

Lance took a deep breath. And then another one. Alright, maybe also a third one. He was on edge, okay?

When he finally worked up the courage to look at Keith, he was met with a look neither filled with anger nor resentment nor disgust. Truth be told, Lance knew he shouldn’t be surprised by that but he still felt relief flood through him like a gentle wave. Lance didn’t know what to say so he just nodded.

Keith opened the box. The rules were fairly simple: Answer the question or eat a bean. Lance felt nauseaus already. They each had a bean to start off the game.

“Alright, ask me something.”

“Why are you here?”, Lance blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. ‘ _Smooth, Lance. Real smooth.’_

“You weren’t at Hogsmead”, Keith shrugged. That didn’t seem like an efficient enough reply to the question but Lance didn’t press. He would never complain about Keith seeking him out. Especially if it’s two days after he made an ass of himself.

So he just nodded. “Your turn”, he said as he ripped several blades of grass out.

Keith pulled out his sketchbook. Lance had seen it a billion times but had never been granted a peek inside nor did he ask for access to it. He had seen Keith doodle in the margins of his class notes and do sketches on loose parchment but the sketchbook was sacred to Keith and Lance respected that. After all, he knew what it felt like to cultivate a private space for his creative work.

A place for things that are not meant for everybody to see. A place for things that are not meant for anybody to see. Not all art was supposed to be consumed by others.

“As you know, Shiro got me this. Or well, a sketchbook like this, I have filled quite a number of these by now. At first, I thought it was stupid but it did help me, like he had said. You know, with organising my thoughts and progressing my feelings and shit... I don’t know”, Keith shrugged before he cleared his throat. “This is my newest entry.”

Lance’s breath caught in his throat as Keith carefully placed his valuable sketchbook in front of Lance. It was a sketch of him. Of _him_. Of _Lance_. Lance instantly recognised the words adorning the top and the bottom of the page.

_rose thorn, pearl dust, moonstone in disarray_

_making my heart yearn for things faraway_

_scent that lures me into the depth of his gaze,_

_of constellations setting me ablaze_

It was Lance but definitely not the Lance that stared back at him in the mirror. No, this Lance had freckles that shined bright and that were connected into constellations. He wore a diadem of seashells, clams and pearls all in an iridescent green. The backdrop of the whole sketch was a glowing full moon and blood-red wild roses were splattered across and around the shoulders.

Scrawled onto the right side of the page it read:

_wild rose in disguise?_

_was I supposed to read it?_

_damn, more hand washing?_

“Truth or Bean, and you can absolutely refuse to answer but… why is it ‘a wild rose in disguise’?”

“I… I wrote a poem once, back when…”, Lance cleared his throat as he kept rereading the three lines on the right-hand side of the notebook page. “I can show you if you want. Then we would be even.”

“Even?”

“You saw my sonnet, I saw two of your pieces.”

“Two?”

“Are you telling me that that haiku wasn’t on purpose? Because that makes it even funnier”, Lance said as he flipped through his notebook. “Here." He was gnawing on his bottom lip as it was his turn to open his most inner musings up for someone else to judge and dissect. But Keith had trusted Lance and Lance knew he could trust Keith. “I wrote this during my ballad phase.”

He didn’t want to hyper-focus on every miniscule twitch of Keith’s face as he read but he couldn’t help it. He had told Keith an infinite number of times that he loved him and they had studied and laughed and bickered just as often. They both had observed how their touches and gazes had lingered and gotten softer more and more.

There was no doubt in his mind, Lance was in love with Keith. And he knew Keith loved him, too. But living and loving in this grayzone had been comfortable. Their friendship was a cozy home, not deterred by the fact that Lance was a Slytherin and Keith was a Hufflepuff. Not deterred by their rocky beginnings. Not deterred by anything. And perhaps not deterrable by something as trivial as romantic feelings getting involved. Because at the core, their dynamic would always be built on their friendship – romance would always be subordinate to the kind of love they had for each other.

As Keith looked up, he didn’t say anything. He just took Lance’s hand. It felt right this way. All of this did. Keith had always been an ‘Action > Words’ kind of guy. Lance admired that. But he still had to preface his next move. It was basic human decency.

“My turn”, Lance said without breaking his gaze away from Keith. “I dare you to kiss me.”

“That’s not how the game works.”

“Alright, then. Truth or Bean: Would you be okay with me kissing you?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘oka-“

“You know what? I take it back. There’s no way I’m in love with such a smartass.”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Don’t,” Lance said, already anticipating Keith teasing him for his prematurely slipped out confession. But it was already too late. That shit-eating grin wasn’t going to leave Keith’s face for the foreseeable future.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Lance groaned. “I wonder how the weather at Beauxbaton is around this time of year.”

“Alright, I will forget I heard anything in exchange for a kiss.”

Lance rolled his eyes but leaned in all the same. Their kiss tasted like vanilla icecream and envelope glue. _There are definitely worse Bertie Bott’s Beans combos_ , Lance figured.

As their lips met in a tentative first kiss, he felt Keith’s energy rush through him. He felt his magic and he was sure Keith could feel his.

As he grazed Keith’s cheek with his fingertips the cherry blossoms went into full bloom in reaction to their combined magical energy emanating off them in calm and steady waves. Soft petals gently rained down on them as they kissed again and again and again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Y’know who was fucking done?_

_Marie Antoinette._

_She banned wigs in her private château park,_

_She was sick of the strict etiquette._

_People strolled around in their natural hair,_

_Instead of white hair stacked up high,_

_Braided flower crowns of dahlias_

_And wild roses. But why?_

_The dahlias I understand._

_So royal and lovely and strong._

_Wild roses, though? Agreed,_

_they are pretty. Don’t get me wrong._

_But wild roses are common,_

_Painfully so, you see them everywhere._

_So why use it to decorate_

_blue blooded hair of heir?_

_Where dahlias are strong like he is,_

_Strong-willed,_

_Strong-minded,_

_Strong-built._

_Wild roses are_

_more flexible, more free._

_Sprouting roots right where they want,_

_More approachable, more like me._

_Wild roses are often pink and violet,_

_The colours of my flag._

_Wild roses are often overlooked,_

_Annoying and an empty brag._

_But dahlias have substance._

_Intimidating but kind._

_Could wrap everyone around their finger,_

_If more often they spoke their mind._

_My dahlia is a Hufflepuff,_

_Truly and through and through._

_He frowns and pouts and crosses his arms,_

_Don’t let it confuse you._

_For he is kind and sweet and soft_

_If he sees need be,_

_To lower his walls just a tiny bit_

_Like he did for us three._

_Like he did for his brother,_

_Who saved him from despair._

_If you doubt my dahlia is a Hufflepuff_

_Look more closely and with care._

_My dahlia flourished 'cause one person_

_showed him kindness, one fateful day._

_It’s what he needed and what he gives_

_in his own stubborn way._

_See, dahlias are beautiful,_

_They are strong and royal._

_They are hard-working,_

_They are kind and loyal._

_But I’m a mere wild rose in the château park,_

_A snake in paradise, a brewing storm._

_Happy to be intertwined with my dahlia_

_No matter in what way or form_

_Whether brought together by Marie,_

_The talking hat or feline beasts,_

_I will always love my dahlia_

_He’s my demon, I’m the willing priest._

_Everytime I’m with my dahlia,_

_He reminds me that it is okay to be_

_A wild rose. His love gives_ _me freedom,_

_to love and to be me._


End file.
